


What we make of ourselves

by Woozletania



Series: Sanctuary [13]
Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, Pain, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-16
Updated: 2019-03-27
Packaged: 2019-10-10 23:24:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 18,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17435459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Woozletania/pseuds/Woozletania
Summary: Rocket tries to make peace with his horrific past, but a cybernetics malfunction forces him to confront fears he hoped never to face again.





	1. Chess and forgiveness

It was Christmas at Sanctuary. Snow on the ground, decorations on the buildings, and cheerful Uplifts belting out carols. The Guardians spent nearly a month reliving Peter's childhood memories by acting out one holiday tradition after another, and if you didn't count the time Rocket almost shot Peter along with the exploding zargnuts and Christmas lights it'd all amounted to a long, pleasant break from their hectic lives.

It wasn't a surprise that their break ended in drama. Sometimes one thing led to another. In this case it all started with a video call. And before that, with a documentary.  


"What's that?" Rocket looked up from the chess board as a group of unfamiliar faces appeared in the distance. The crew of varicolored Xandarians was accompanied by a weaselly Uplift on all fours. Sharptooth didn't escort just anyone so the crew must be dangerous or, more likely, important.

"Documentary crew," Papa said, and pushed a pawn. Without thinking Rocket slid a bishop down a line of vacant light-colored squares and took a knight that was, at least momentarily, unprotected. Then he cursed.

"Sorry," he murmured, and went to take the move back. Papa, a older, tubbier and less anthropomorphic version of himself sporting a couple of bits of cybernetics on the outside compared to his own internal ones, chuckled and waved his hand away.

“It's all right, son. I know you're better than I am. I've learned a little of this game but you have a natural talent."  


"Natural," Rocket said grimly. "Nothing natural about it."

"Son," Papa said, and there was no anger or sadness in his voice. Just understanding. "You can't help what they made you. All you can do is be the best person you can. We are what we make of ourselves."

He studied the board as Rocket brooded. You didn't turn a raccoon or otter or other small animal brain into a human-plus intellect without a lot of cheating. Like Rocket, his head was packed full of purpose-grown organic microprocessors nestled in among more natural brain tissue. Computers, by any other name. Papa's were blank when he was rescued, so he learned as he went. Cooking, counseling, chess. Love. Whatever he wanted to do.

Rocket wasn't so lucky. Direct neural feed programming filled most of his implants with tactics and skills. Rocket was an intuitive tech genius and tactician whether he wanted to be or not.  


What he didn't get out of the deal was happiness. He'd had to earn that himself, slowly and painfully and only after murdering his way out of the lab. And now he finally had it...most of the time.

"I don't know how you do it," Rocket muttered. He absently pushed a piece, ignoring a vulnerable pawn on Papa's queen side he recognized as a trap. Should he take it he'd be put in check and then lose a knight. "How do you just forgive them? How do you forgive him?"

Papa didn't need to ask who 'him' was. That would be Pavel Ernst, the head surgeon of the team who made Rocket. Or rather Ernst II, the teleport clone of the man a horribly traumatized Rocket cut to pieces with a utility knife. The clone managed to escape the carnage and take the stasis box full of Papa. Rocket didn't learn his father was still alive until much later...and not until Ernst II had far too much time to 'experiment' on Papa.

"I almost killed him again," Rocket muttered. Without needing to focus on the game he systematically dismantled Papa's defenses until the older raccoon pushed his king over. "If he hadn't had information we needed, if I hadn't felt bad about some of the others. I could have kept him alive, made him suffer. He deserved it."

"Rocket." Papa put his hand on his son's. Not the hand of braided metal and chrome but his one real, flesh and fur hand. The one Ernst II left him. "What happened in that lab was not your fault. It's not your fault they killed your mother, your siblings, and it's not your fault that they cut you open. And it's absolutely not your fault that you killed most of the researchers. After what they did to you, anyone would snap."

"What is important," Papa said as he set up the chess board once more, "Is to move on. Anger is fine. Hatred isn't. It'll eat you up, son. Sooner or later you have to forgive, and the first person to forgive is yourself."

"Everyone deserves a chance to move on," Rocket muttered. He pushed a pawn even as he watched the documentary crew set up across the lawn. He was being filmed. They were getting shots of his game with Papa because, after all, Papa was what the documentary was all about. A last few shots and they'd be ready to release the story of one little raccoon and what Ernst II did to him.

And then it would happen. Rocket realized he'd made a decision, sometime in the last few minutes. He looked down at the chess board, at the opening Papa learned from books and play and the counter he simply knew to do. Looking a dozen moves ahead he anticipated crashing through on the queen side and trapping Papa's king. It came naturally to him, chess. 'Naturally'.

Rocket pushed his king over and Papa looked up in surprise. He too knew he'd lose this game if it went on, and didn't care. Papa didn't have a competitive bone in his body. He just wanted to spend time with his friends, or his son.

"Sorry dad," Rocket said as he stood. "I just remembered a call I need to make. I'll be back soon, I promise." He slid out of the seat, landed naturally on all fours and trotted away. No need to act like the bald bodies here of all places.

"What will I tell Lylla," he thought as he walked. "I should talk to her first." But no. He had to do this before he changed his mind.

He found a quiet spot on the lawn, away from the volleyball net and the tables outside the dining room. Away from the documentary crew filming Papa, now playing chess with an opossum Uplift from the tech building. "Call Denarian Dey," he said to his data pad.

"Oh, good afternoon Rocket," the pad said a moment later. Dey was in uniform, on duty. Good. "What may I do for a Guardian of the Galaxy? Or are you calling for Lylla?" As the Speaker for the Uplifts, his mate wielded political powers he couldn't approach. Sometimes he was little more than her assistant. He didn't mind.

"I'm calling for myself," the raccoon said. "There's a documentary crew here."

"Sure," the fuzzy haired Xandarian replied. "You approved the crew, as did Doctor Foster, your father and the Speaker for Uplifts. Is there a problem?"

Rocket took a deep breath. "You should put Ernst in protective confinement. Out of the general prison population."

Dey tilted his head to the side quizzically. "Why? He's just another prisoner now. He takes his chances like the rest."

"It will get out," Rocket went on. "Once the documentary airs. Some reporter will want a follow up story. It's too juicy to pass up, the Uplift kept in stasis and taken out for one torturous operation after another. Kept around as a pet project. Too many people know. It'll leak. Someone will figure out it was Ernst."

Dey's eyes went distant as he thought. The Uplifts had been at Sanctuary for more than a year now. Xandarians had come to think of them almost as children, some happy and healthy and some so horribly abused they'd never lead a normal life. Papa was getting a documentary because of his miraculous ability to bounce back from that abuse. If Ernst's fellow prisoners found out he was the one to torture Papa....

Day's eyes cleared. "Why?" Why save Ernst, a man he knew Rocket loathed with every fiber of his being?

"Because..." Rocket shrugged helplessly. "Look, I dunno. He's in jail. He can't get at me or my family any more. That's enough, OK?"

"I hope so," Dey said. "I have to pass on that recommendation now. Want me to say it was my idea?"

"Yeah," Rocket said without hesitation. "Maybe you'll get a medal for good thinking. I don't want anyone thinking I went soft."

Dey nodded and broke the connection, managing to look both confused and a bit smug. Rocket, sharing that confusion and also feeling strangely lighter, made his way back to Papa.

The older raccoon was now one of three at the chess table. To his side sat Alyssum, the white-furred ferret he'd fallen in love with within a day of hitting Sanctuary, and playing the black pieces against his white was Lylla. It had taken Rocket a little longer to fall for the otter than it'd taken his dad to fall for Alyssum. But not much.

Rocket hopped up into the fourth chair and scratched himself absently as he watched. This was more of an even match. Lylla's nearly supernatural ability to read body language wasn't terribly useful at a chessboard. She could tell when Papa was up to something but didn't know the game as well as he did. It balanced out.

"Was the call productive?" Papa studied the board and moved a bishop.

"I guess." He wasn't sure, himself. Had he done the right thing?

That was all it took. Lylla's cup-shaped ear swiveled around and her eyes followed. "Honey?"

He sighed. Might as well get it over with. She'd find out one way or another. "I called Dey and told him to put Ernst in protective confinement. When this documentary goes out someone's bound to connect him to Papa. The other prisoners would tear him apart."

It hurt him to see Papa flinch just at the name. For all his gentle nature his father knew fear at the mere mention of Pavel Ernst. 

But the fear passed, and Papa smiled. "Forgiveness begins at home?"

"I guess," Rocket repeated. Lylla just smiled and put her webby hand on Rocket's. She'd known what was going to happen to Ernst as well, but she's kept quiet, let him decide what to do. Rocket was glad she approved. He still wasn't sure it was the right thing to do, but letting go of that ball of hate, or at least a little bit of it, made him feel better.

"Chess is no good for four," Papa said. "Cribbage?"

It was a good way to end a day, letting go of hate. It was a stressful process, that. Maybe that explained what happened next.


	2. Painful memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The stress of the day brings back painful memories of Rocket's time in the lab.

_"Get the door, Chang. And be careful. It may be playing possum."_

_Chang nodded and leaned against the mesh of the cage door as he undid the padlock. At the last moment he thought better and pressed his forearm against the metal frame around the mesh instead.  
_

__

__

_It was just as well that he did. The "sleeping" animal in the cage lunged for him as he moved, barely missing his forearm with outstretched claws it thrust through the mesh. Chang cursed and opened the cage just enough for Kinkaid to slide the catch pole in. The animal backed away but there was nowhere to hide and soon he snapped the clamp around its neck._

_It hissed and scrabbled at the catch pole with its claws as he dragged it into the light. Ragged brown fur covered perhaps half of its slender body, the rest showing pink skin and stitch marks from many operations. Most of the fur was missing from its skull and bolts and healed scars showed where the entire top of its head was removed and replaced. A great swath of fur was missing from its back, exposing a broad layered scar around metallic implants. More implants atop its collarbones showed the work put into reshaping its torso from feral to anthropomorphic._

_It was primarily bipedal, but the left arm was more like a leg. That would be the next project for Doctor Ernst and the team: Pull that limb off, modify it and put it back on just as they had the others. When they'd started, half a year ago, it was just an animal. A few more operations and it'd be a raccoon-man, albeit a little one, and if the Uplift progressed as planned, a very smart one too. It was useful to test supersoldier upgrades on lower animals. No one really cared if they lived or died, just if the technology worked._

_Except, apparently, the animal. It snarled and tried to catch the edge of the carry cage. It very much did not want to go in and though the two techs were several times its size it was very strong. It took both of them working together to get it into the carry cage. Kinkaid was panting by the time he yanked the catch pole out and slammed the door._

_"Damn," he complained. "It really didn't want to go in."_

_"Funny, that," Chang replied. He dropped the carry cage and its growling occupant onto a wheeled table. "Isn't this thing supposed be to able to talk by now?"_

_"Not my department," Kinkaid said with a shrug. "Ask Tschu."_

_Exhausted from the effort to escape, the little creature huddled shivering in the cage. It knew pain was coming. No trip in the carry cage ended without it. It was only a question of what flavor of pain it would be today._

_Today the pain would come from The Box. The animal whined as it saw the clean metal walls, the viewing window with the researchers standing half in view behind it, and the robot arms dangling from the ceiling. Chang and Kinkaid slid the carry cage off the rolling table, connected some cables and left. Their work was done._

_Behind the glass one of the researchers touched a button, and 89P13 yelped and leapt out of the cage as the floor delivered a series of painful shocks. Just the same he turned and tried to climb back in, but a robot arm held him back and another lifted the cage out of reach. He didn't want to be here. He didn't want to be in the box._

_There was a whir as another robot arm descended and set a weapon down. 89P13 knew it at once. Standard issue Kree cyclic plasma rifle. Ammo capacity: twenty rounds with a standard magazine. Range: line of sight, with diminishing effect over range depending on the composition of the atmosphere the plasma charge had to burn through. Capable of overcharge setting for short range, armor piercing fire. Chance of weapon damage when overcharging: 12.5%. Rail beneath barrel for K-40 plasma grenade launcher or bayonet._

_The plasma rifle was almost as large as his entire body and 89P13 itched to grab it, strip it down, reassemble it. This was why they'd implanted cybernetics to make him five times as strong as a normal raccoon: to work on and use human-sized equipment. The conditioned-in urge to work on weapons was almost irresistible. If he'd thought there was any chance it was functional he'd grab it in a second and fire it at the viewing window. From this distance and angle he calculated a better-than-60% chance of penetrating the armorglass and killing Doctor Tschu and Researcher Osterman. But no. He knew from the hollow clunk as the magazine struck metal floor that the battery was missing. The plasma side was filled but all he could make from that was a weak grenade, and that only if he had sufficient time. The researchers and their robot arms wouldn't give him that time and all he'd do was reveal his intellect._

_89P13 gritted his teeth as he resisted the urge to touch the rifle. Instead he stared at it dumbly, then turned away, sniffing the air. He knew what would happen when he did that. The pain was instantaneous, blinding. The Box was a room lined with neural induction generators, capable of inflicting pain on the occupant without causing permanent damage. They'd put him in, present him with a task and blast him with agony if he failed. He failed a lot._

_A high thin whine of agony was forced out of 89P13 as the pain grew worse. His legs buckled and his chin hit the floor. Then, blessed relief. His eyes blinked open to find he was close to the rifle again. In his pain he'd rolled over and was nearly touching it._

_It would be so easy. All he needed to do was cooperate. Take the rifle apart, do whatever tasks they offered. Pass their tests. Easy. Then The Box would stop hurting him.  
_

__

__

_But that wouldn't stop the surgeries, the pain as the neural feed was forced into his skull in the training room, the misery of just existing as he lay in his cage recovering from all the abuse. There was only one way to stop that._

_89P13 blinked dumbly at the rifle, scratched himself and turned away. The pain hit him again and once more that whimper of agony was forced out of him. That was fine. He could take it, for as long as he needed to. All he had to do was be dumb enough, be enough of a failure, and eventually the researchers would want to know what went wrong. He'd go on the operating table one last time and the pain would go away forever._

*****

"Rocket." It was a quiet, gentle voice. Rocket woke to find Lylla hugging him tight as she groomed the nape of his neck with her fangs. "They aren't here. They can hurt you any more."

He came fully awake, recognizing the smell of Lylla's quarters at Sanctuary, the feel of the round padded bed sized for two. He woke shivering, still feeling the pain of the nightmare. Lylla held him tight as he recovered. She knew what made him cry out in the night. He knew what made her cry. Sometimes he held her as she woke. Sometimes she held him. The terrors came less often these days, but stress could bring them back.

"Must've been the Ernst thing," he murmured, and held his mate tight as she groomed him. She was nibbling her old love bite spot now, that place on her neck where she'd once nearly killed him. Under the fur he still had the scars her canine fangs left.

He still hurt. All over, shooting pains down each limb so much like the neural induction of The Box. That was new, but Rocket gritted his teeth and tried to relax. It was just a memory. The pain would fade as he woke.

But it didn't.


	3. Things get worse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rocket tries to figure out the source of his sudden pains.

It hurt. It hurt so much, like lightning running down his arms and up his legs. Lylla was still grooming his nape and Rocket dug his claws into the padding of the round bed before she saw his hands trembling.

Her webbed hands wandered but for the first time he crawled out of the bed rather than stay. "Gotta use the bathroom. Be right back." It took all his willpower to keep the whine of agony out of his voice as the pain spread from his limbs to back and belly. Thankfully Lylla was too sleepy to notice. She lay on her side in the round padded bed and watched him scurry away on all fours. Despite his best efforts he limped but she didn't say anything. Maybe she thought he had a cramp from sleeping awkwardly. He could blame it on the nightmare if she asked.

Rocket didn't go to the bathroom. As Speaker for the Uplifts Lylla rated an office at Sanctuary and he'd set up a work bench in one of the smaller rooms.

"Bag C, bag C." With shaking hands he unrolled his cybernetics kit and set up the screens. There was a shuffle of webby paws in the hall as he reached behind himself to slot a probe into the receiver just left of his spine.

"Is something wrong, honey?" Lylla's whiskers tickled his neck as she looked over his shoulder. The screen ran a diagnostic on Rocket's cybernetics and the diagram of the raccoon's internal architecture built up. Skeletal reenforcement, linear armature motors paralleling his muscles, the metal framework they'd used to reshape his torso from animalistic to humanoid betrayed by the bolts on his back and collarbones. Last of all the implants in his skull.

"It's nothing," Rocket lied. "I just thought it's been a while since we did a checkup on each...other." He stared at the screen as the scan registered the last of the cranial implants. All registered as functioning normally. He let out a held breath as hr realized the pain was gone. What just happened?

"Everything looks normal." Lylla nuzzled his neck. "Do me?"

It only took a few minutes to do a basic check. Rocket pondered the situation as they watched the scan populate. How could pain come and go like that without a cybernetics malfunction?

Lylla's cybernetics came back green on the scan too and Rocket stowed his tools. Some sort of intermittent issue? If it happened again he'd do a more detailed scan or talk to Paul Foster. Or maybe something biological? He knew his body pretty well, he couldn't think of anything that would cause sudden pain and then just stop like that.

It was almost time for breakfast and by mutual agreement they snapped on their harnesses and headed out the door. Ten steps outside the door he stumbled as the first hint of pain returned. This time there was a fortunate distraction and he nodded as Lylla went on ahead. The awning was up in front of the technical training building and a massive wrinkly Uplift waved a flipper.

"Rocket," Wal boomed. "Have a look." The walrus was the least anthropomorphic Uplift he'd met yet, even less so than Breaker the bear. Wal lacked hands and if it weren't for the harness and pack slung below his tusks you wouldn't know he was anything but an animal. Under that bullet skull lurked a keen technical mind, though. The product of a lab dedicated to building underwater workers, Wal ran the technical training annex here at Sanctuary.

Rocket hopped up on a chair to see what was going on. Several Uplifts of various sizes sat around a long table cluttered with bits of machinery.

"Students," Wal boomed, "You know Rocket. Rocket, if you would, close your eyes and tell me what you can sense about the items on the table in front of you."

Rocket gritted his teeth against rapidly intensifying pain and did as he was asked. With eyes closed he picked up one chunk of machinery after another, feeling the contours, judging the weight, sensing the texture of the metal. He sorted them neatly into three piles and opened his eyes.

"See, class," Wal boomed. "Rocket is a good example of a tactile tech. He senses by touch what he needs to know." A metallic tentacle emerged from his chest pack and prodded the three piles. "He has correctly divined that these items represent parts from three gauss rifles of incompatible types. The only items here that are swappable between the three are the rounds in the magazines and you will note he put those toward the center of the three piles, nearly touching. A tactile tech may not even realize what he does but relies on exquisitely sensitive hands. Thank you, Rocket."

Rocket slid out of the chair as Wal continued. "A visual tech, on the other hand..."

Rocket landed on all fours, then rose to his feet. He had another data point now. The pain faded the moment he began to sort parts. If it behaved as it did before, within a few minutes it would be back. He could only think of one explanation and he didn't like it at all.

The next building in line was the security office. On the porch was a padded sleeping basket and in the basket a ball of brown-black fur. He heard a rustle in the grass as he approached and Rocket pounced on the Xandarian equivalent of a field mouse. Rather than trap or poison such creatures Sanctuary allowed and even encouraged their presence to satisfy the predatory impulses of the most carnivorous Uplifts.

Rocket caught the mouse by its tail and flipped it up over the ball of brown fur. In an almost invisibly fast motion Sharptooth the sable lunged up out of the basket and the mouse's terrified squeak ended in a snap of fangs. Sure enough. He thought he'd seen a beady eye watching him from that brown fur.

"Morning Sharptooth," he said, and gritted his teeth. Each time the pain returned it was worse. The pain tolerance built up in the lab kept him going and he glanced two buildings down at the clinic. He'd go after breakfast. No need to worry anyone. "Drax in?"

The sable nodded between crunches as he devoured the unfortunately mouse. Just then a broad furry head bigger than Rocket's entire body appeared at the window.

"He's showering," Breaker the bear growled. "We'll be right out."

A minute later the muscular gray alien emerged from the doorway, doing up his pants, and the eight-hundred-pound security bear ambled out after him on all fours. Sharptooth, his brief meal concluded, leapt up onto Breaker's back and was borne along, peering alertly in all directions like the security Uplift he was. A fur-colored harness was all the gear he wore. Sharptooth didn't carry weapons. Sharptooth _was_ a weapon, with active-camouflage fur, a venomous bite and hair-trigger combat reflexes. That was why he was paired with Breaker. The bear was tough enough to take it when the violence burst out of his fifty-pound body. 

Sharptooth, yet another product of a horrific upbringing in a lab, was still learning to get by in a non-combat setting. That was Sanctuary's function, after all. Helping Uplifts to fit in.

Drax leaned down to scratch Rocket's neck and despite the pain he arched up into the strong fingers. Drax hesitated as he stood back up. "Is there something wrong, Rocket?"

"It's nothing." Rocket lied. "Busy morning."

They arrived at the dining hall and were greeted by the smells of fresh-baked bread, cooking food and the chatter of twenty Uplifts plus a few humies. The remaining Guardians were seated around one table and Peter Quill waved as Rocket and Drax entered.

"Hey Rock." He waved at the open chairs and Drax scratched Breaker's ears as the two security Uplifts headed on to one of the chairless tables used by feral-form Uplifts. 

"Hey Pete." Rocket hopped up onto a high chair as Drax slid his butt into a humie-type one, "Gams, Mantis. How you doing Groot?"

"I am Groot," the teenage tree declared solemnly. He showed Rocket his data pad. 

"Two free games if you 'Participate in a survey?' You gotta be careful, bud. I still get junk calls after I filled out that one that asked if I ever had chronic pain. They think I'm some humie with a bad back. But I'll help you fill it out later."

Rocket accepted a plate from Gamora and filled it with food from the bowls in the center of the table. Scrambled eggs, sausage, grapes, little red fruit Pete said were "like tomatoes" that he knew would pop deliciously between his fangs. Thin bread sticks he liked to use to impale the sausage and fruit before he ate it, so the crunch contrasted with the softness.

He was beginning to work it out. As soon as the food was on his plate he began to sort it with his claws. Sort the sausage from the eggs. No grape or tomato could touch another. Sort the fruit and sausages by sizes. He felt the pain fade as he worked. He knew what was happening now. Or at least he had a good idea. He could make the pain go away if he needed to. The next thing he needed to figure out was -

"Rocket." He looked up to find the whole table staring at him. Their eyes shifted to his plate and he looked down at the neat rows of grapes, the tomatoes, the rectangle of scrambled eggs methodically arranged in order of size of egg chunk, largest chunk to the lower left, smallest to the upper right. Rocket gritted his teeth at a spike of pain and nudged a disk of sausage into perfect alignment with the rest.

"Rocket," Peter said again. "What are you doing?"

Lylla hopped up onto the chair next to him and took one look at the plate. "Oh, honey. It's worse?"

"Is what wor-" Rocket's voice trailed off in an agonized whine as the pain clamped down like a vice. His whole body was on fire and his claws dug grooves into the wooden table as the sudden spasm of his muscles sent his plate skidding across the table. Drax burst out of his chair but before he could take a step closer an Uplift Rocket didn't know was suddenly between Rocket and Lylla's chair.

He was a short furry thing, with cream and brown fur and one tall upright ear. The other side of his face was smooth black metal and plastic studded with sensors. He was smaller even than Rocket and he pressed something into the raccoon's hands.

"Take," he said. "Take."

Rocket didn't need to look at it. He felt it shift as he grabbed it, the complex mechanical puzzle changing shape as he instinctively began to solve it. As he worked the puzzle altered itself and the agony left as fast as it appeared as he turned his full attention to solving the smart-puzzle.

He could only glance up for an instant before returning to the work. Only work kept the pain away. In that instant he saw the circle of concerned faces. Papa and Alyssum were sprinting towards them on all fours and every Uplift in the dining hall was staring at him. 

"What the hell is going on," Peter complained. Rocket didn't answer. If he took his attention from the puzzle for one second the pain would be back.


	4. Troubleshooting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Herbert West believed a man was just a machine made of meat. The Guardians try to figure out what is wrong with the "machine" called Rocket.

"I am Groot."

"I don't know what's happening," Star-Lord said as he watched Rocket work on the puzzle. The raccoon was so focused on the shape-shifting puzzle-test he couldn't spare attention to talk. Lylla filled in the silence.

"Rocket had a nightmare and woke up in pain," she churred. "Sometimes when we remember what happened in the labs we...hurt." Her eyes went distant for a moment. "But the pain soon fades. This time it didn't but when he ran a cybernetics scan everything looked fine and by then the pain was gone, so we came here to eat."

"We was fine when I asked him to help in the training annex," Wal rumbled from as close as his bulk allowed. "As good as ever."

"He was limping when he approached your class," Sharptooth said. The sable popped up on his hindpaws to peer over Lylla's shoulder at Rocket. "As soon as he stopped working the pain came back. He was wincing when he fed me a mouse."

"He was tense when I petted him," Drax rumbled. "He said it was just a busy morning."

"Hands were shaking," the new Uplift said. He pointed at Rocket's plate, halfway across the table but still full of perfectly sorted food. "Saw him work on food to make pain stop."

Rocket spared a moment's attention from the puzzle. "Is there ever a time here when someone isn't watching me?"

"He didn't say anything because he didn't want us to worry," Lylla said with a sad smile. "But something's wrong, and it's getting worse."

"Bad part in head," the new Uplift said. He touched the metal and plastic on the side of his face and Rocket saw that his other hand was working on a puzzle like the one he held. "Hurts if no work."

"The implant?" It was Papa's voice and Rocket saw the concerned raccoon peering past Drax's thigh. "I thought it just made working feel good."

A few months back Rocket, suspecting that his sometimes maniacal focus on work had a sinister cause, discovered that one of the cognitive implants in his brain included a wire running into his pleasure center. It rewarded him for work and as a result he was borderline addicted to tinkering. Unfortunately nothing could be done about it. They didn't know enough about the implant's functionality to know if it could be safely removed.

"It's doing more than that now," Rocket growled. "The second I stop working the pain starts and it gets worse every time."

"Bad part," the new Uplift said. "Or part go bad." He touched the side of his head again. "It is to make work, but so much pain is bad for work. Bad part."

"Thank you Sigma," Lylla churred. "Thank you for helping."

The bunny Uplift, suddenly realizing he was the center of attention, shyly backed into the crowd. Just then Doctor Foster appeared, because naturally someone called him the second an Uplift had a medical emergency. He took one look at Rocket obsessively working the puzzle and knew what was happening.

"Conditioning feedback?"

"If by that you mean it feels like my fur is on fire if I stop working, then sure," Rocket said. "Started this morning and got worse every time I stopped using my hands. Doc, you know I go over my cybernetics every week. And you've seen the scans, taken your own. There's no dedicated training implant like they stick in some of us. It's gotta be that one we found before."

"I know." Paul Foster watched as Rocket worked on the puzzle."Alyssum?"

The white ferret Uplift stepped close to Rocket on her short legs. She licked her pink-padded palm and held it out. "Lick, Rocket."

"I don't wanna be drugged up." Alyssum, head cook at Sanctuary, was originally built as a house slave. Her skills extended to brewing an arsenal of drugs and even, in some cases, manufacturing them within her own body.

"It's only a minor nerve block, dear. You'll be a bit clumsy but you'll be able to think just fine."

"All right." Rocket leaned forward and licked the dampness off her palm. 

"We need to get you to my clinic," Doctor Foster said, 

"Done," Drax rumbled. Rocket protested as Drax scooped him up as though he were a mere child.

"She said I'd be clumsy, not an invalid you giant oaf." That being said, there was a certain comfort to being borne along by huge strong arms. Not that he'd ever admit it, of course.

"Sigma, come along please," the doctor said, and the little cyborg rabbit popped back out of the crowd. Sharptooth appeared as well and the crowd pulled back, leaving a one-body -length clear zone around the twitchy sable.

"If I find that someone has done this to you, Rocket," the sable growled, "I cannot promise they will suffer for as long as they deserve." He turned and leapt up onto Breaker's back without waiting for an answer and the enormous bear pushed through the crowd toward the exit. The knot of people around Rocket followed.

"If you find who did this you will bring them to us," Lylla called after the sable. "Alive. Uneaten."

"Yes, Speaker," Sharptooth growled as he settled down on Breaker's back. The sable looked angry. Angrier than usual, even.

"No one did it," Rocket said from the cradle of Drax's arms. "Who'd benefit? It has to be a malfunction. A lot of the tech in me is early stage stuff. Some of it is prototype tech because I was such an early Uplift."

"I can think of plenty of people who'd want you to be in constant pain," Peter said. "Could that implant be controlled remotely?"

"Probably not," Rocket and Doctor Foster said almost together. The Terran doctor continued. "We don't know everything it does but our scans didn't see anything that looks like a transceiver node."

They made their to the clinic, with the security Uplifts turning aside at their office. Heated water lines under the sidewalks kept them free of snow and Uplifts playing in the sports field watched curiously. Rocket saw a couple of members of the documentary crew were still filming. The knot of people making their way hastily toward the clinic naturally drew their attention and hovering holocams turned to zoom in on Rocket, carried along like a baby in Drax's arms.

"I'm never gonna live this down," Rocket groused with what little attention he could take from the puzzle.

"We are nearly there," Drax rumbled. A moment later the bright, cheery interior of the clinic enclosed them. Many Uplifts reacted badly to confined spaces so the windows, armorglass or no, were numerous and large. Even the operating theater was half surrounded by glass, albeit of the one-way sort.

"Cleva, cancel my appointments for this morning and assist in theater A when you are done," Doctor Foster said. The pink-skinned Xandarian nurse nodded and Sigma paused only long enough to pull on an INTERN smock before rushing ahead into the theater to start flipping switches. By the time Drax plopped Rocket down in the full-body scanner it was humming and ready to go.

"Lylla, stop,' Rocket complained. She'd brought along a bunch of grapes and the second he was settled she popped one into his mouth. "I'm not helpless."

"You didn't get to eat anything at all," the otter said reasonably. "You need to have something."

"Scanning in five," the doctor warned. "Lylla, I won't get a clear scan with you there." The otter backed reluctantly away from her mate an instant before the lighted sides of the scanner began to pulse. He let the thing hum and pulse for a full minute and didn't complain when Lylla tossed grapes into the open side for Rocket to catch in his mouth. Mortifying as the attention was he was in fact hungry. Between organically powered cybernetics and energy hungry Uplifted brains the average Uplift ate twice as much as a normal creature their size.

"All right Rocket, I want you to stop working on that puzzle now."

Rocket gritted his teeth and relaxed his hands around the constantly changing puzzle. This time it only took a few seconds for the pain to start but whatever drug Alyssum licked onto her palm was effective. It hurt, but not nearly as much as the last time. The only problem was that the nerve blocker she used also made him a bit wobbly and it would be harder to work the puzzle now. Or walk, for that matter. He'd probably have to stay on all fours or risk falling over.

"There it is," Doctor foster said as the scan-screen lit up. "Look at that! Tenfold increase in activity."

The full body scan of Rocket showed more than the one implant outlined in red. A web of lines radiated out from it all the way down the raccoon's limbs. They could actually see the pulses of pain travel down the web and each pulse of red made Rocket's furry little hands twitch.

"It's worse than we thought," the doctor said. "It's stimulating your whole nervous system somehow, Rocket. This could cause permanent damage if it keeps up."

"And we still don't know everything it does?" Papa pushed into view through the ring of Guardians. "We can't just remove it?"

"Uplift is a delicate process, Papa," Foster said. "We know much more about it than we did when Rocket was made but over time the implants become part of an Uplift's mind. They aren't as separate as they look on the scan and there's just no telling what would happen if we took it out. And this one...Sigma here is the only one who has it as bad as Rocket and we're still trying to figure out how to turn his implant off. I think this one in Rocket was the result of someone's pet project. I was certainly never briefed on anything like this when I was there."

"Someone put it in there," Gamora said. "Somewhere there have to be notes."

"Halfworld lab blew up after I escaped," Rocket said from inside the scanner. "Doc Foster is the only researcher who made it out."

There was a sudden silence as the Guardians shared looks. The same thought occurred to each of them at that moment but no one wanted to say it out loud.

In the end Papa shared a look with Rocket before the older raccoon spoke. "No," Papa said. "There is one other."


	5. Negotiations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is a reason it is a good idea to have your lawyer's help when making important decisions.

The man in the yellow prison jumpsuit blinked, hesitated. Then finally sat on the far side of the armorglass. Next to him his Xandarian advocate maintained a well practiced poker face. For all the good it did him.

"Well, well, well," Pavel Ernst said cheerfully. Cheerfully until you saw the cold, dead eyes, anyway. "The Speaker for Uplifts. And," he snapped his fingers a couple of times. "Space lord?"

Lylla, cute and harmless looking as always - she was literally built to make people underestimate her, after all - judged that Ernst was in fact nervous and that his advocate hated his guts. She took a sip from her cup as Peter answered.

"Star-Lord. Peter is fine. You're from Earth too, aren't you Pavel?"

"That's right. No harm telling you that, you have all my files anyway. I was on a yacht with half a dozen other medical researchers and whoosh!" He stared theatrically at the ceiling. "Alien abduction. I hear much the same happened to you. And they put us to work." His gaze shifted to Lylla. "But you aren't here to talk about my background. What do you want, Speaker?"

"All right," Lylla churred. "Straight to the point then. We have a sick Uplift. You may be the only one who can help him. I am here to negotiate terms for your cooperation."

The Xandarian advocate blinked. "Speaker, that is properly a matter for the advocates. There are proper channels -"

"Which will not be followed," Lylla said in the same pleasant tone, but there was a hint of steel there now. "This is a medical emergency and there is no time for paperwork. I cannot force your client to cooperate and you cannot force him not to. It is ultimately his decision, not yours."

"Speaker -" But Ernst held up his hand. 

"You can go. I take responsibility."

The advocate picked up his data pad with well disguised pleasure. Well disguised to everyone but Lylla, anyway. Her ability to read body language and vocal cues was as astonishing as her mate's intuitive technical genius. By design and inclination she was a negotiator. Her cute otter face was just there to make you smile and think she didn't know what she was doing. And then you found out she did. Too late, in most cases.

"So." When his advocate had left Ernst looked from Lylla to Peter. "That bastard Foster knows his Uplifts now. Therefore it's someone I worked on and you think it's a problem I'll already know about. 89P08?"

"Papa does not need your help," Lylla said evenly. "If you ever touch him again I will have to explain why you were eaten by an angry Uplift. His son, however, does need your skills."

Pavel went blank for a moment. "Oh yes. That's right. 89P13 is his son. I never really paid attention, you know. It doesn't do to learn more than is needed about test subjects. It fosters an emotional attachment. That emotional attachment, which Paul Foster let happen, killed a lot of good men."

Peter's eyes narrowed. "Doc, the only reason you are alive right now is that Rocket -"

Lylla held up her hand and Star-Lord cut off in mid-word.

"Rocket is suffering, Doctor Ernst. We do not have the information we need to help him. Do you know anything about an implant designed to reward work, and punish inactivity?"

"Maybe I do," Ernst said. "You said you were here to negotiate. Well, I've given it some thought. I'll help. I can fix your pet monster." Lylla did not flick a whisker. "I want something in return."

Lylla made an adjustment on her data pad. All of this was being recorded, naturally. "Speak."

"Your mate," Ernst spat the word, "Killed six good friends of mine. My clone was there that day and died. Director Randolph died and all he did was sign permission slips. Gabriel Tschu, the man who made your Rocket think, died. And others. I had remote access to the security cameras at Halfworld. I have recordings of what he did to my friends and my clone. I'll give you the time indexes of his escape. It's all in my files, all recorded. Release it to the public, Speaker. Let them see what he did. Then we'll see if anyone wants your horrible little mate around any more. You might give it a watch yourself, Speaker. See if you want that _thing_ sharing your bed."

"And then," he said as Lylla stood up on the far side of the armorglass, "And only then, I'll save him."

"We can't do that," Rocket said a few minutes later. Mantis had her hand on his shoulder, damping the pain with her empathic skills. That meant she soaked up some of it too and she stood pale-faced and stiff. Rocket tried to brush her hand off his shoulder but she wouldn't let go. "If people find out what I did it could destroy Sanctuary."

"What you did," Alyssum said sharply from next to Papa, "Is no worse than what a lot of us did to escape the labs. I killed men to get out. Men who thought I was their pet, trusted me. Some of them loved me, as much as you can love a pet. Sharptooth was thrown in a pen, drugged and starved until he killed and ate his family to survive. There's nothing you could have done that's worse than that."

"Honey." Lylla put her hand on Rocket's trembling shoulder. "You were desperate. You said it yourself, before. Sometimes we do the wrong thing and it all works out. Sooner or later a story like yours or Sharptooth's is going to get out. It might as well be now. People have to know what was done to us in the labs, why we are so angry sometimes."

"I don't know." Rocket slumped into a seat, no longer trying to escape Mantis's hand. "This could destroy everything we've worked for. What are we going to do?"

Doctor Foster looked pale-faced up from his data pad. "We're going to give him exactly what he asked for." He turned the pad so they could see Rocket, but not the Rocket they knew. Thin to the point of malnourishment, half shaved, bloody from head to foot and with a dripping utility knife in one hand and a gauss pistol in the other, this Rocket giggled as he lifted the pistol and fired. And fired, and fired, cackling madly as he unloaded half a magazine into someone at point blank range.

Lylla reached over and dragged a padded finger across the screen. She spent a moment watching the scene flicker, watched bit and pieces of what happened in that awful half hour as Rocket killed his way to freedom. Then she tapped the screen and read the list of video files, indexed by time and location.

And then she smiled. "In fact, we'll be generous. We'll give him everything he asked for, and more besides."


	6. Scalpel please, doctor.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With video files of Rocket's bloody escape from the Halfworld lab now public, the Guardians can only await the results of the raccoon's operation and hope the court of public opinion comes down on his side.

He was a ragged little thing, half shaved and thin to the point of starvation, spattered with blood and yet grinning. Scars and lines of stitches covered his exposed skin, and bolts protruded from his flesh, but he moved swiftly and with strength. 89P13 giggled as the door opened and he saw his prey.

"Ernst," he cackled, the first word he ever spoke. "Ernst, Ernst, Ernst." He set the gauss pistol on the floor outside the door and swiped the key card to close it. Only then did he take out the utility knife, it was humorously oversized in his hand but his cybernetics let him use it easily. "Doc-tor Ernst, heh, heh, heh."

"89P13," Pavel Ernst breathed. "My God, what's happening?"

"Scal-pel please doc-tor," the little raccoon cackled as the razor sharp, inch long blade snapped out.

Pavel Ernst was a soldier once and there was still muscle under the fat. He balled his fists as he stepped toward 89P13. There was no way out without the key card around the cyborg's neck.

"I put you together, you little monster. I can take you apart."

"Yes," giggled 89P13 as he raised the knife. "Try."

The action was almost too fast to follow. Pavel tried to punt 89P13 into a wall only to have his thigh laid open by the knife. A swing of his fist grazed the raccoon's cheek but it was strong and tough out of proportion to its size and every time the little monster's hand moved Pavel bled. Bit by bit the cuts weakened him until he slipped in a puddle of blood and was stationary for long enough that the raccoon reached out and cut the tendon behind his ankle.

"God," Pavel Ernst grunted as he hit the floor. "Please stop."

"Oper-a-ation not done yet, doc-tor," said the raccoon. 89P13 stepped forward and the screaming started. Though the little raccoon was very careful and had plenty of first person experience with where someone could be cut without killing them quickly, it didn't last nearly as long as he hoped.

When it was over, and the lacerated body of Pavel Ernst lay in a spreading pool of blood, the raccoon took the key card from the body and added it to the ones around his neck before turning to the door. "Next one," he growled. He left bloody footprints as he walked. "Next one take lon-ger."

The face of a Xandarian news anchor replaced the raccoon's. His normally pink skin was pale. "There you have it. Shocking revelations from a just released -"

Ernst II touched the remote. There was Doctor Osterman on the screen, a noose of wire around his neck and 89P13 clinging to his shoulder to look into his eyes as he died. 

He touched the remote again. "I told you to get that nerve, Kin-kaid," 89P13 rasped as he shot Jim Kinkaid repeatedly. The raccoon used the gauss weapon skillfully, firing to inflict pain rather than kill, and it took a dozen shots for Jim to finally die. A dozen more blew his body apart as the dead-eyed raccoon snarled, his finger tight on the trigger. The only reason the spray of blood didn't turn 89P13 red was he was already bloody from head to toe.

"As per your request," Paul Foster said from next to Ernst II, "The files are released. By now hundreds of copies exist and more are being downloaded all the time. There's no taking it back now. Our part of the deal is met."

Ernst II frowned as he touched the remote and was confronted by a different scene. 89P13 on an operating table, one arm pulled free of his body and being worked on by Ernst's clone. Doctor Chang used a blood cycler to keep the raccoon alive while Jim Kinkaid worked the nerve wand. Kinkaid was not the best nerve tech Ernst ever met and the raccoon's muzzled face was fixed in a rictus of agony as they worked. An almost inaudible whine ululated out of the little beast and periodically it found the strength to squirm, but the shackles held it to the table.

"What is this?" Ernst II gestured at the screen. "This isn't in the time frames I told you to release."

"There was no time," Paul Foster said reasonably. "Rocket has a day at most before he suffers permanent neurological damage. There was no time to sort the wheat from the chaff. We simply made the whole file block available to the public. Your index of suggested time hacks was appended. See," he touched the remote and looked away from Directory Raldolph's face as 89P13 garroted him. A scrolling news banner below the scene read ...RDIANS LEADER STAR-LORD RESPONDS TO... "It's all there. What you wanted."

A smile crossed Ernst II's face as he flipped back to the operating room recording. It was good to see the little monster helpless once more. "It's all right. Bit of a bonus, really."

Doctor Foster mashed his finger down on the remote and the screen went blank. "You can watch it all later. Are you ready to help? Your part of the deal is due."

"All right." Pavel Ernst cracked his knuckles. "I'm ready. Got to keep the little vermin alive for his trial, after all. I assume you'll be assisting?"

"You forget, Pavel," Doctor Foster said. "Your medical license was revoked. You will not touch a scalpel, or the patient. You will instead assist me."

"That was not the deal."

"The daughter of Thanos has assured me that if I let you touch her friend I will suffer. I believe her. And the Destroyer, among others, will be watching as we work. I do not trust their discretion if you so much as approach Rocket. You will still be there, but in an advisory capacity. If anything you will do less work than you agreed to."

"All right." Pavel looked longingly at the remote, then stood. "Let's get to it."

Under heavy security, and manacled in Pavel's case they embarked on an hour long hovercar ride. Their destination was a place he'd head of but never seen. Sanctuary. That filthy Uplift commune Nova let blossom on their watch. Pavel saw various furry and humanoid faces turn upward as the car descended and actually shivered as a brown-black feral Uplift of some weaselly disposition met his gaze through the windshield and licked its chops. Thankfully the aircar landed in an enclosed garage and there was no one in the operating theater but a pink-skinned Xandarian nurse, a sedated raccoon...and two other people.

It was an uncomfortable thing, standing with a hulking grey alien just behind you on one side and an equally deadly if slimmer green figure on the other, but a surgeon is used to working in stressful situations.

"I expect you reviewed your notes," Paul Foster said as he washed his hands. "I read what relevant sections I found, but very little about this implant is documented."

"Which is why I am here," Pavel said as he adjusted his surgical mask. "The feedback implant was Tschu's idea. Chang grew it and he and I implanted it. It shouldn't be producing pain at the level you describe, so it's clearly malfunctioning. It was supposed to reward work with pleasure and sloth with mild discomfort. Conditioning, you know. Overwhelming pain is counterproductive in a worker. In fact we hadn't finished calibrating it when your..." he considered the silent form of Drax behind him, "Friend killed Tschu and the others."

"Gamora," the giant murmured. "Make sure no one else is here. Visible or otherwise."

"Ah," Pavel said. "The stealth Uplifts. As though the non-stealthy ones don't cause enough trouble, eh?"

Drax grunted behind him and Gamora, quartering the room and by all appearances listening intently, shot him a look. Just then a small Uplift appeared and made his way to a scanner panel.

This Uplift was an Earth rabbit, anthropomorphized of course, and even smaller than the little raccoon on the operating table. The entire left side of his head was a smooth curve of black metal studded with sensors, which meant it had one tall upright ear and no second ear at all. The little Uplift hopped up on a chair and began flipping switches, lighting up half a dozen hovering holoscreens. It made a fine adjustment and the brain structure of their patient resolved on a 3D screen. "Ready Doctor."

"Thank you, Sigma. Pavel?"

"Of course you'd have Uplift assistants. Isn't Zek here?"

"Doctor Zek is on medical leave," Paul Foster said. "Stress."

"Stress? Did one of your pet monsters attack him?"

"Doctor," Sigma said from ten feet away. "Implant output is spiking again."

"Good lord." Pavel was genuinely horrified. Even sedated, the little raccoon was trembling. To do that to an unconscious subject... "That shouldn't be happening. All right, Paul. This is what you need to do."

In the waiting room Papa was pacing. Groot, for once not fixated on his game, watched him go four paces down the room, turn and repeat. Unlike Rocket, Papa never received the long series of operations it took to turn an animal into an anthropomorph. Other than his opposeable thumbs, cybernetic eye and hand and intellect Papa was just as he'd started. A raccoon.

"If he hurts him," Papa brooded as he paced. "If something goes wrong..."

"Drax and Gamora are there to make sure nothing does," Lylla said reasonably. She concealed her worry well, but it was there. "If Ernst so much as touches a scalpel he'll be dead where he stands. And he'll be lucky if it's quick."

"Sharptooth offered to kill Ernst for me," Papa mused. "Of course I didn't take him up on it. And Rocket..."

"I am Groot," the tree proclaimed.

"That's right," Mantis said. "Rocket was worried that the other prisoners would kill Ernst when the documentary came out and tried to protect him."

"The documentary." Papa paused in his pacing. "What happened to it? I'd forgotten."

"On hold." Lylla waved at the muted screen on the wall. Yet another news agency was showing a juicy bit from the tapes. In closed caption an excited commentator was calling for charges against Rocket. Which was exactly what they'd expected to happen.

"I wonder if he figured it out," Papa said as he watched Rocket murder Ernst I for the tenth time.

"If he had he wouldn't be helping," Lylla said. "He's a smart man, but not a politician. He doesn't know how people will react."

Her smile was cold and certain. "For that you need a diplomat. Like me."


	7. Waiting game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Recovering from surgery, Rocket can only wonder what his eventual fate will now that everyone knows about his murderous rampage in the lab.

The first thing he noticed as he woke was a blessed lack of pain. By the time they put him under for the operation the blasts of agony from his "bad part in head" were so bad that Mantis nearly passed out trying to blunt their impact. The only drugs with any impact at all were full nerve blockers and that left Rocket limp on the table, well past "clumsy" and closer to paralyzed. Good as Xandarian medicine was Paul Foster told him that they simply couldn't up the painkiller dosage any more without risking his life and electronic nerve blockers were no good since the pain originated in his brain. It was operate or nothing.

"If this doesn't work," he told Peter with Doctor Foster there as well, "Put me in Papa's stasis box until you figure something out. And if I die on the table," he said with a glance out the glass into the viewing room at Lylla and Groot pressed against the glass, "There's a file on my data pad for last wishes. Password is 'Halfworld 2'. With a space. And messages for various people. No passwords. You didn't rate a goodbye letter, Star-Munch."

Peter grinned, probably guessing there was in fact a letter waiting for him if worst came to worst. Which there was. "You're not going anywhere, Rocket. You're too tough to die."  


"If I do," Rocket murmured as the anaesthesia took hold. "Already got more out of life than I ever thought I'd have."

But he was alive. Rocket swam up towards consciousness, aware first that nothing hurt save a faint ache in his head. Which he'd trade the full body agony for any day and which was probable from, you know, having his skull sliced open.

The room was full of smells. The whole crew must have been there and he sniffed, sorting odors by age and strength. The smell of Pavel Ernst was faint and old, as was that of Denarian Dey - nice of old fuzzy hair to visit - and a few people he didn't know. Probably reporters or cops reminding everyone that the second he came away he was going to jail, or at least on trial.

It all came rushing back. The files. Everyone knew now. Everyone knew he'd killed six scientists and a security guard whose only crime was to be between him and his prey. The age of the smells in the room told him at least two whole days had gone by since he went under. By now they'd have gone over the files and realized he could have escaped without killing a single person. He could have gotten out through the air vents once he read the terminals and knew the layout. But he hadn't. He'd stayed and killed until he ran out of victims. Only Paul Foster, the one man to show Subject 89P13 kindness, had survived. And, it turned out, the other half of Pavel Ernst's teleport clone pair.

Rocket sniffed. Surely someone would be here at all times until he woke. And someone was. Not someone he expected but still, someone to talk to.

"How bad is it," he said as he opened his eyes. Four feet away Sigma sat, his one tall upright ear pointed at him. Sigma knew he was awake from the change in his breathing and was already looking at him.

"Bad?" The little bunny hopped down off the chair and held out the shape changing puzzle. "Take. Fix."

"No Sigma, I meant..." but the anxious bunny pressed the puzzle into his hands and the feel of moving parts against his sensitive hands had him working to solve it. Parts clicked and shifted and he felt it settling down into a fixed shape. It was much easier to solve this time.

"No,” Sigma said. “Too easy." He poked a claw at the thing. Immediately it began to shift, faster now, and Rocket turned his full attention to the puzzle. It was shifting form so fast he struggled to keep up but his hands and mind did not fail him. Once he got the rhythm of it he got it under control and after a minute of that Sigma plucked the thing out of his hands, the shape changing puzzle almost squirming free of his grip before he touched a control. That slowed the change rate and Sigma stood next to the bed, working the puzzle as he watched Rocket out of his one eye.

It was the first time he got a good look at the bunny without pain blasting through his body and saw the wrongness now. The faintly unnatural sheen of Sigma's fur, the subtly improper movements, even the nearly inaudible - even to him - whirs as the bunny moved.

"Aw, man," Rocket said. He reached out to brush the automaton's false fur. "How much, Sigma? What did they leave you?"

"Just this," the little bunny said. He touched the fur around his one organic eye. Real fur blended almost imperceptibly into the fake. "Brain. Part of head. Rest is..." he shrugged. "Best doctor can do."  


"And it still hurts?" He watched the bunny work the puzzle. It was on a lower setting now. Lights on one unmoving segment showed the bunny was using step three of five difficulties. It'd been on one when he handed it to Rocket and five when he turned it up. Setting five had ENDLESS scribed next to it.

"Still working on interface." Sigma said. He touched the smooth metal of the left side of his head. "Was to be brain-control for shuttle. Still adjusting to body. Puzzle helps. Keep busy, less pain."

"But not no pain." Sigma shrugged, looking at the puzzle.

Every time. Every time he started to feel even a twinge of pity for himself this happened. Someone always had it worse than he did. Always. Sure, he might end up in a cell. At least he was alive.

Rocket sniffed. Bunny. Not one but two. "Nice try. Got any more tests, Blackjack?"

On the far side of the room a shimmer resolved and a stark naked bunny twice Sigma's size faded into view. Sanctuary had two two-Uplift security crews. Breaker and Sharptooth were one and here was the leader of the other team.

"Got to test your senses, Rocket," Blackjack said. He wasn't quite naked after all. A fur colored harness designed to shift with his active-camouflage fur held a few small devices and the red-lensed goggles he used to see while nearly invisible got pushed up on his forehead as he faded in. "Doc Foster says that pain hit you so hard we gotta make sure everything works."

"You know we figured out photoactive fabric you could wear that disappears when you do. Armor, too. You don't have to go around naked."

"Don't have to," Blackjack said with a grin as he faded into the background. "But it's fun."

"Pervert," Rocket groused as Blackjack faded away. Active-camouflage "invisibility" has its limits and now that he knew the bunny was there he could just about keep track of the shimmer. Blackjack moved with eerie silence on his broad padded feet and if he hadn't smelled him Rocket might never have worked out he was there at all.

"No pain?" Sigma, who'd amused himself with the puzzle through the conversation, looked up from it. 

"No pain. Well, a little bit." Rocket felt the top of his head, his sensitive fingers finding no trace at all of whatever operation took place. Paul Foster even grew the fur back with the device he'd used on Rocket's back, or a similar one. That meant they were sure it was done.

"Did they remove the implant or just disable it?"

Sigma opened his mouth but just then the door opened and Drax bustled in with the Xandarian nurse Cleva. Sigma hopped up out of his chair and touched a series of controls on a panel. Hovering screens popped into existence showing, among other things, 3-d views of Rocket's brain.

"Senses good," the little Uplift said. "Saw me, smelled Blackjack, good on puzzle."

"How could he not see you?" Drax paused with his fingers just touching Rocket's nape. Rocket leaned back into them to get the scritching started. There was a time he'd flinch away from or bite anyone who tried to pet him, especially there. That time was a long while ago no and if anyone earned a right to pet him it was Drax. "You are moving."

He didn't know. Rocket met Sigma's eye and the little bunny shook his head. "He was totally still before you came in, Drax." Drax would be OK with what Sigma was, Rocket was sure, but it wasn't Rocket's decision. Who else knew? Probably most of the Uplifts. Lylla for sure. No one shied away from the little bunny in the dining hall though nearly everyone must know what he was. This was Sanctuary, after all. It was full of misfits, mistaken creations and monsters. And people. Especially people.

"Ah." Drax dug in his fingernails and gave Rocket's nape a good scritching. Cleva was checking over the screens and made a positive noise as she saw no red on Rocket's brain scan.

Rocket took a deep breath. He hadn't missed the fact that he woke up with a security Uplift in the room and that Blackjack hadn't left. "Am I under arrest? And where is everyone?" Rocket had woken up after surgery before and there was no way only Drax would be here unless something was happening.

"Speaker at Council meeting," Sigma said. "With others."

"Discussing my legal status and what was in the files."

"Correct," Drax rumbled. He hadn't let up scritching Rocket and Rocket certainly didn't object. He leaned forward so Drax would stroke a hand further down his back, over the fur around his back implants. Once it hurt just to be touched there but that time, too, had passed. Now there was fur and healthy skin instead of infected scar tissue and Drax was the main reason.

The comfort of that huge hand stroking his fur brought the old animalistic noise out of him but Rocket was past being embarrassed when he purred. Mostly. He imagined invisible Blackjack grinning from across the room and didn't care.

"So when do we find out?" Another thing Rocket hadn't missed was the lack of a fixed screen and a remote. Recovery rooms normally had one and that meant they didn't want him watching the news. Mustn't stress out the patient.

"Soon," Drax rumbled as he petted Rocket. "Soon."


	8. The trial of Rocket Raccoon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rocket goes before the judges to learn his fate.

He'd never seen so much security at Sanctuary. The Uplift colony was always defended, of course. He'd helped design and install the point defense turrets hidden away on the roofs and the bubble shield generator always there in case they really needed it. Sanctuary wasn't a place of war, but a place of recovery and teaching, which is why the primary security force was the Uplifts themselves. Individual crazies could be (and had been) handled by Blackjack, Foxtrot, Breaker and Sharptooth. The alarms, the shield, the point defenses, those were just there in the event of another major attack like Ronan's, to give the inhabitants time to reach their shelters.

What you didn't usually see here were hovering Nova Corps fighters and troopers. The aircar park outside the gates was packed with vehicles, some with diplomatic insignia. Something big was happening and Rocket hoped that whatever happened to him it didn't bring down the wrath of the Corps on his family and friends.

A Nova trooper on guard shot him an amused look and Rocket squirmed in Drax's arms. "This is completely unnecessary," he complained. "I can walk just fine." 

"Doctor's orders are for you to have a week to recover," Drax said firmly. "Also," he whispered as they left the guard behind, "Something about it being good for the cameras if you seem injured."

"Fuck that." Just the same...maybe Lylla and Foster thought his sentence would be reduced if he was pitiful and weak. And he'd play along, a little. Rocket licked his fingers and ran his claws through the fur atop his head, leaving parts and making the new scars from his operation hopefully stand out a little. That was all he'd do, though. Showing off real injuries was one thing, but he wasn't going to pretend to be feeble. Not this time, not when he was facing justice for crimes he'd felt guilty about for years.

The line of Nova troopers pointed them past the dining hall and even the gymnasium, the two biggest buildings at Sanctuary. Rocket whistled as he saw the cloud of hovering camera drones. Every news agency on the planet and a lot of off-planet ones must be here. The designs of some of them weren't even Xandarian. Maybe it was a slow news day for the Kree, the Rigellians, the Sovereign and the others or maybe they wanted to see how a dangerous Uplift was treated by the tolerant Nova Empire.

"Great," Rocket grumbled as the cameras turned en masse to focus on him. "My biggest moment in the limelight and I'm being carried like a krutaking baby."

The crowd surrounded the sporting field and filled the stands. Doctor Foster's imported sports were wildly popular with the Uplifts and the soccer field was the only place big enough to accommodate the mob. Rocket took in the clusters of dignitaries - some with the regalia of full Council members - the press corps, Nova officers and not only what must be nearly the whole population of Sanctuary but many of the Uplift graduates who no longer lived there.

And, of course, the Guardians. Pete, Gamora, Mantis, Groot, Kraglin and even Nebula, presumably here to testify and given temporary immunity from prosecution. And Lylla, in her Speaker robes. In that role she could speak before the Nova Council but she stood with the other Guardians. Next to her were Papa and Alyssum, both standing up on their hindpaws for a better view.

"Your mate rescued herself from the trial," Drax murmured. "For what Quill tells me are 'tiresome political reasons'."

"It's 'recused'," Rocket whispered back. "It means she can't speak on my behalf due to bias. She doesn't trust herself to say bad things about me. Or she wants it to look that way. I can never figure out which."

Drax nodded. Never play cards with a politician. He and Rocket were creatures of the surface, both very bad at lying. Lylla could lie to your face and you'd never know it. She was a negotiator, a diplomat. Lying was part of her job. And making sure everyone was equally happy with the outcome of the negotiations, too. Rocket hoped he'd be happy when this was all over but he rather doubted it.  


A Nova corpsman pointed them to the stand, not that you could miss it. A tribunal of three judges sat nearby and all the cameras, not to mention the attention of the crowd, were focused on it. Drax made his way to the stand and deposited Rocket on the padded seat before taking his place behind him.

The senior judge raised his hand and the conversation in the crowd died. When all was silent he spoke.

"Rocket Raccoon, do you know why you are here?"

"I do, your worship."

"Your honor," a nearby Nova Corpsman muttered.

"Your honor," Rocket corrected. "In order to get the cooperation of one of my makers to correct a fault in a brain implant,” “He touched the hopefully-visible scars atop his head, “We agreed to release his files from the lab where I was Uplifted."

"Correct," said the tribunal. "As a result, this became public knowledge."

Rocket suppressed a wince as a dozen screens flicked to life. He knew what he was going to see, though he'd avoided watching the files in the brief hours before their release and his operation. There he was, half shaven, clean in some frames and bloody from head to foot in others. Killing men, one after another. First Director Randolph, who he strangled with a wire, then that security guard whose name he couldn't remember, then Chang and Tschu and the others. And there toward the end, bloodsoaked 89P13 cutting a screaming Pavel Ernst to pieces with a utility knife and giggling all the while.  


"In accordance with the Uniform Sapience Act and the Edict of Sanctuary," the tribunal said, "As of this moment, Rocket Raccoon, your pardon is revoked."

Rocket nodded. At least it was quick. The pardon that shielded him from prosecution on all his counts of thieving, vehicular theft, and escape from confinement was now null and void. And the murders of course. 

"Two days ago," the tribunal said, "These files were released to the public. You were in surgery immediately afterward. Tell the court why."

"Malfunctioning control implant," Rocket said. He the top of of his head again. "It was meant to stimulate my pleasure center when I worked but it went bad, age I guess, and I was in pain whenever I didn't work. It got so bad I couldn't sleep or walk and the doc said if they didn't operate it could kill me or at least cripple me."

"The court calls Doctor Paul Foster to the stand."

Doc Foster made his way to the witness stand. "Yes, your honor?"

"Repeat what you said half an hour ago, if you please."

"The implant did not malfunction," Doc Foster said. "Not in the way Rocket thinks. When we operated we discovered that it was designed to inflict agony if it was not periodically calibrated. This was presumably to punish and ultimately kill any Uplift implanted with it if they escaped their creators. The malfunction in this case was that it did not do so until a few days ago. Control implants are common but like so much of Rocket's cybernetics, the implant was a prototype and failed. Other examples of this were his deteriorated muscle and joint augmentation, along with infections, which were corrected by -" 

"That will be all, doctor."

"Rocket," the senior tribunal said a moment later. "How many operations did you undergo at Halfworld Labs?"

"I don't know, your wor...honor."

"Sixty-two," the tribunal said. "We have recordings."

The still running footage of Rocket murdering the staff was joined by three equally large screens, each subdivided into many smaller ones. They were numbered and in chronological order and showed Rocket, or rather 89P13, being operated on. In the earliest ones he was no larger than a man's hand. He hadn't realized they started that early. He also hadn't know that some of his siblings were operated on at the same time. He was the smallest, the runt of the litter, but he was the one who survived. Over the first few months the recordings showed four crying raccoon pups, then three, two and finally one. The only survivor of the lab, until he discovered Papa in a stasis box six months ago.

And other Uplifts-to-be he hadn't know about were there in the recordings. Different colors of fur, different shapes, but all with sharp teeth. That lab liked carnivores for some reason. One by one they disappeared from the recordings as well. The last was a brown-and-gold furred creature with sharp white claws.

"I remember," Rocket said without being prompted. "Subject Eight-Eight M-something. He's why they switched to mechanical locks, he memorized a lock code, got out. Attacked a guard. They killed him for it, like they killed my mother when she tried to protect me." He looked away from the screens. She was on some of them too. He still missed the smell of her fur, all these years later.  
"He is why you escaped, then. You picked the lock."

They even had recordings of that. Him snatching the ring off Paul Foster's finger and the doctor letting him keep it, only for 89P13 to gnaw and twist it into a pick. And so he escaped, and so the lab vanished in a blinding flash after seven men died at his hands.

He hadn't realized how many cameras there were, how much was recorded. Their security was really shockingly lax. If they'd had just a few people monitoring those cameras, or a decent AI, he wouldn't be here today.

Rocket stood up straight. "Is this really necessary, your honors? I know what I did. I accept your judgment. I ask only that my family not be judged for my crimes."

"Why did you play dumb," the tribunal continued remorselessly. "Why not pass their tests?"

Even more screens appeared, crowding the ones containing murderous 89P13 off to the sides. Now a hundred views of the training room with its agonizing neural feed helmet sprang into focus, and an equal number of The Box with its direct pain stimulation. Screen after screen of 89P13 curled up in a shivering ball or twitching vacant-eyed as his nerves were blasted with pain after failing some test. Over and over, screen after screen.

"Because the sooner they thought I was a failure the sooner they'd kill me," Rocket said. "Cooperating wouldn't stop the pain. I saw what happened to other Subjects. Cooperating just made the pain last longer before they killed you. No one got out of that lab whether they did what was asked of them or not. They all died, one way or another. Like all the ones before me, like Eight-Eight-M. Like my siblings. Like my mom."

"Why did you rig the generator to explode?"

"Because I couldn't let it happen again. I was the last living Uplift in that lab. The last Subject, the last animal. All the others died before me but if I died trying to kill the doctors or even if I killed them all but the lab survived, more animals would be shipped in. I heard the screams, your honor. Sometimes I was the one screaming. That lab had to go."

Rocket stood up straight once more, steadying himself on the edge of the defendant's stand. He really was a bit woozy still. "Your honor, what I did was wrong. Some of the men I killed didn't deserve it and I still regret that the security guard and a few others died. And I regret that I tortured some of them rather than killing them quickly. But labs like that one have to be stopped. Since discovering that new ones had popped up," he nodded across the grass to Lylla in her Speaker vestments, "I've done little but try to shut down as many as I can."

"All I ask," he continued, "No, I ask for two things. Please, don't judge my family and friends by what you saw me do. And please, whatever happens, don't stop hunting down these butchers." He nodded to the screen where various ages of Younger-Rocket were still screaming.

"That will be enough," the senior tribunal said. "Approach the tribunal, Rocket."

Rocket did as commanded, with Drax one step behind and a hand hovering above his shoulder in case he fell. One of the younger judges spun a datapad around. "Handprint here." Rocket pressed his palm onto the pad. For a bigger sapient it'd be a thumbprint, but his whole hand wasn't much bigger than that.

The tribunal nodded and disconnected a data crystal from the pad. "Here you are," he said as he handed it over.

"What's this?" Good as Rocket's hands were he had no idea what he was holding.

"Your pardon, of course," the senior tribunal said. "Xandar law prohibits altering an existing one. We had to void the original in order to produce one that explicitly pardons you for your actions at the lab, among other places."

A cheer erupted from the assembled Uplifts as they realized what was happening and Rocket saw Papa sprinting toward him on all fours. Lylla followed at a more sedate pace, looking entirely unsurprised by the verdict, and the Guardians came with her.

In the moment before his friends arrived and bore him away the tribunal reached out and took Rocket's hand. He pointed to the hovering screens with the other. "Two thousand hours of torture. Half an hour of madness and blood. Any man would snap after what they did to you, Rocket Raccoon. You aren't guilty. You never were."


	9. What we make of ourselves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Other people don't make you. In the end, your own decisions define who you are.

"I don't understand," Rocket said, "If they already knew I wasn't gonna go to jail, why do all that?"

So many questions. So many apologies. The mob of mostly-furry Uplifts swept them back to the dining hall, now serving as a bar. Just this one Papa and Alyssum weren't the servers. Automated carts brought the drinks by and everyone needed a drink. Some Uplifts took it better than others, but for many the recordings of what happened to Rocket in the lab brought back awful memories of their own. They sat huddled in groups drinking. Crying. Drowning the sorrows they'd had to experience again and it was all Rocket's fault.

"Why," Rocket went on as Drax filled everyone's glasses, "Did everyone have to see that? Why did Papa? I'm so sorry, dad."

The older, less anthropomorphic raccoon smiled. "It's all right. I see it all, son. I'm the one people come to when they wake up screaming, if they don't have anyone else. Helping people get past that is why Sanctuary is here. Some never do." He looked down at his drink. "We have a few people here who will probably never leave. They find work here. Sometimes they don't even make it that far. Some of them," he stared into the distance, "Just can't take it. I try to help them get past it. But you can only help them so much."

He picked up his drink, then set it back down. "The hard part of it for me, watching that, was that it was you, son. And the others I'll never get to meet."

Rocket nodded. He slugged back a shot that burned all the way down. "I don't remember them, dad. I wish I did. I remember mom, a little just her smell, how warm her fur was, how safe I felt. Before they came for me, her last cub. I was the little one. I've seen the files, now. They worked on the others first, and when they died, they came for me. They killed her when she fought to keep me."

He was silent for a moment. "And I felt bad for killing the guys who did it. I still do. Why?" He looked up from his drink. "Sure, the security guard, he was just doing his job, but why do I still feel bad about the others?"

"Because you were the one to survive," Drax rumbled. "I couldn't save Hovat and Kamaria. I tried. Ronan killed them right in front of me and there was nothing I could do. I know this. I still feel the guilt."

"You can't save everyone." It was Kraglin, surprisingly, who spoke up. "I feel it every day, losing the cap'n. Could I have done anything to save him? I don't know. Why was I the one to survive?'

"That's it." Peter Quill tapped the table. "That's it right there. We've all lost people. We all wonder why we were the ones to live."

He looked at one Guardian after another. Mantis, carrying the guilt of a cave full of bones, though if she'd tried to stop Ego from killing his progeny she would only have joined them. Drax and Gamora, who'd seen their families killed before them and been helpless to stop it. Groot, who only existed because his father died. Kraglin, who would always wonder if he could have done more. Nebula, who killed for Thanos most of her life and now knew how wrong she'd been. Peter Quill, who would forever regret not listening to his mother's last words.

Papa, who carried pre-Uplift vague memories of his mate but never knew three of his cubs and never would, outside of recordings. Who never got to even sniff or lick his children until they opened the stasis box a year ago and he met Rocket. Alyssum, who'd killed me who trusted her to escape her lab, one of only two survivors of all the animals Uplifted there.

Rocket, poor little Rocket, who lost everything in his lab, was tortured and changed until the rage and hate burst forth and killed his creators. Only to have that rage turn somehow into depression and guilt and self-hate at being the only Subject to escape. The first to escape, the first really successful Uplift. And even more guilt when his success caused more labs to spring up. They'd battled the many-headed hydra of the labs for two years now.

And Lylla? Cute, innocent Lylla? What did she have to feel guilty about? Star-Lord looked across the table and saw she was crying, tears streaming silently down her cheeks and dripping from her whiskers. Rocket jumped as she put her webby hand on his and he saw what was happening.

"I'm so sorry," she sobbed. "I'm sorry you had to go through that again. But people had to see. They had to know."

Doctor Foster appeared from somewhere, a half empty glass in his hand. "It was her idea. She explained it and I agreed. Pavel made a mistake."

Rocket and Papa were both hugging Lylla, but that didn't stop them from listening.

"We released the files with the time markers he demanded," the doctor said. "And people watched those bits. And within an hour they wanted your hide, Rocket. Exile at the least, prison at worst. There were demands that the Edict of Sanctuary be revoked, that all the Uplifts here be banished as well. That's what he wanted. But we released all the files."

Lylla, still wrapped in Rocket's arms, nodded. "And a few people were curious enough to look at some of the others. And when they saw what was there, they told a few others. And they told more people, who started going through the whole archive. Six hours later they wanted Ernst's hide, not yours."

'"That is what he doesn't understand," she went on. She sniffed, her tears finally stopping. "He thinks what he did was right. He still doesn't realize that he didn't make a weapon, a Subject. He made a person. And now everyone knows that. They saw the tapes, then saw bits of them again tonight, and they saw how guilty you felt for killing the men who did all that to you."

She pulled away from Rocket and looked into his eyes. "They didn't make you, Rocket. They changed your body, made you hurt, made you hate. But you grew past that. You made yourself into a good person, Rocket. You didn't have to. After what they did no one would blame you for becoming a Ravager, a pirate, a thief. Instead you became a good man, the man I love. You saved people. They didn't make you, Rocket. You made yourself."

"I had help," Rocket said. He looked at the Guardians, his family, the people who saved him from himself. "What happens now?"

"Politics," Lylla stared at her drink, then tossed it back. "Boring Council stuff. Funding for Sanctuary will increase. It's likely an offworld Uplift colony will be founded. Public opinion is firmly on our side, though a few still use the files as an excuse to hate us. But in the end, life gets better."

"Politics." The word was sour in Gamora's mouth. "Is that what it is all about?"

"At a certain scale everything turns into politics," Lylla said. "You know that."

Rocket watched as Groot looked up from his game. A few meters away Sigma sat alone and the teenage tree gestured him closer, scooted aside to make room for him on his seat. No sooner did the little bunny sit than Drax lifted the bottle. "Drink?"

"I don't drink," Sigma said shyly. "Sorry."

"Just this once wouldn't hurt," Drax rumbled, and poured the drink anyway. Rocket reached out and took it before the giant could push it to Sigma.

"Hey," Rocket said. "After seeing all that, I want a drink. But not everyone does." Because Sigma couldn't drink, could he? Or eat. The lab hadn't left him enough of his body for that.

Drax smiled, and Rocket did too as he watched Groot and Sigma sharing the seat. The tree passed Sigma his game, the bunny passed his puzzle to the tree, and each studied their new acquisition before starting to work on it.

Groot knew, he was sure. Groot knew what Sigma was and he didn't care. And that was the lesson of Sanctuary, in the end. People are people, no matter what they look like. Even a little bunny who was 95% metal and fake fur was a person, if you treated him as one. Sigma was just trying to get by, to be a good person.

"We are what we make of ourselves," Rocket muttered, and Lylla, tears dry, leaned over and kissed him.


	10. Moving on

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rocket meets his creator for perhaps the final time.

The man in the yellow prison jumpsuit scowled, hesitated, but finally sat on the far side of the armorglass. He stared through it at the diminutive furry figure on the far side. "Come to gloat?"

"No, Doc." Rocket opened the door on the ventilated carry box he'd brought. It was almost as large as he was because that's what it took to carry a single Terran housecat. "Sorry about that, kitty. Regulations. Had to have the carrier."

The cat who emerged had tabby fur, one cybernetic eye and four beautifully articulated mechanical legs. Comet purred and rubbed herself against Rocket's calf. He didn't have to stoop far to pet her. He'd almost have fit in the cat carrier himself.

Rocket sat on the chair facing Doctor Ernst, separated from his maker by a finger's thickness of diamond-hard armorglass. Comet leapt easily up onto the counter between them and sat, glancing disinterestedly at Pavel before meowing and looking at Rocket.

"You asked to see her, doc," Rocket said. He scratched the cat behind the ears and she purred. "She's healthy and happy at Sanctuary. No thanks to you."

Pavel Ernst tapped on the glass to get the cat's attention, but she ignored him. A brief smile on the man's face faded. "I didn't operate on her to hurt her, 89P13. You have all my notes. You must know."

"No." Rocket looked at the cat, who was purring and rubbing against his shoulder now. "She was a rescue cat, hurt in a fire. You were trying to help her. You just fucked it up because you know which end of a scalpel to hold but you don't know fuck all about cybernetics. Doc Foster and I had her fixed up in a day."

He reached out to touch one of the tabby's gleaming metallic legs with a claw. She batted at his hand playfully and the tips of curved artificial claws emerged briefly from her toes before disappearing. "Made this one myself. The others were projects for the Sanctuary tech class. Right now we're working on growing semi-organic replacements for amputees. Comet will get the first ones, once we're sure they are safe. Then on to a little friend of mine and other Uplifts. Eventually we'll release the tech to the public. We do projects too, doc. We just do them in ethical ways. "

Rocket looked up at the man on the other side of the glass. "For example, we don't operate on _people_ to practice installing cybernetics on our cat."

"Bah." Ernst made a dismissive gesture. "89P08 was just an animal. He knew about six words. All he was good for was practice."

Rocket nodded. "That's what I thought you'd say. You were wrong about him, by the way. He was smarter than he let on, just like me."

Despite himself Pavel Ernst reached for the cat again. This time Comet turned and looked, tilting her head curiously. She mewed inquisitively and rubbed her cheek against the glass where his hand touched. Doctor Ernst smiled.

"You can't have her back," Rocket said calmly. "You can never touch an animal again. Part of the deal. In a few days they're shipping you to a prison so remote no one will even know your name. That's what it's gonna take, doc. To keep you alive."

Pavel Ernst nodded. "The fools came down on your side. After all you did."

"After what I did." Rocket laughed. "Doc, I killed more people in the Battle of Xandar alone than I killed in your lab. I've killed hundreds, thousands. I'll kill more, too. But I do it for a cause. When I shoot someone, it's because they are a threat, to me or my friends or to civilians. I'm a soldier, doc. Which is sort of what you wanted."

"What I wanted," Pavel growled, "Is to make the world better. If that traitor Foster hadn't coddled you and helped you escape, I'd have learned enough to start work on humanoid upgrades."

"Don't sugarcoat it, doc. You wanted to make super-soldiers. I and the others were just practice, like my dad was for Comet here." Rocket paused to pet the cat once more. 

"And what I ended up making was a monster," Pavel Ernst said. He glared through the glass. "And that monster begat more monsters, and those fools in Nova gave you a home."

"You really don't get it, doc." Rocket petted Comet as he spoke. "You just won't let it go. I guess I'll spell it out for you."

He looked up through the glass. "What did you think would happen when you did all that to helpless little animals? That you'd just practice on us and then euthanize us and move on? Sooner or later it was going to go bad. Eight-Eight-Mike would have got out if he hadn't attacked that guard. I could have escaped without killing anyone. But you hurt us and cut us and hurt us some more and it got you killed. That's not the point, though."

There was no anger on his face as he stared at the one man, more than any other, who was his creator. "You didn't make me, doc. You made 89P13, and all 89P13 had was fear and hate. But I'm not that person any more. If I were you'd be dead, or in agony. I've grown, made friends, found a family. Good people who helped me heal. I let go of my hate. Most of it, anyway."

He shoo'd Comet back into the carrier and closed the door. With a last look at Pavel Ernst he picked it up. "I've moved on, Doc. You should too."

Without another glance at Ernst II Rocket tapped his claws on the door and went through when it opened. Outside, the assembled Guardians of the Galaxy waited, and the last Pavel Ernst saw of his creation was the towering gray alien covered in scars picking Rocket up and putting the raccoon on his shoulder. The last thing he saw was the smiles.


	11. Halfworld 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moving on. Easy to say, harder to do.

"Have you thought about kids?"

Rocket's little clawed hand froze in midair as he reached for a pawn. This whole thing had started over a chessboard, and here they were again at the end.

"That's not funny, dad." He studied the board and moved the pawn.

The not-so-slightly chubby and completely nonanthropomorphic (unless you counted his thumbs) raccoon on the far side of the chess table smiled gently. "I wouldn't tease you like that, son." He took his turn studying the board before moving a piece. For a change the younger (but also older; it was complicated) raccoon and his father were evenly matched. If anything Papa had a slight edge.

"Check," Papa said as he put down his bishop. Barely a second later Rocket moved his king. Papa moved his bishop again. "Check." A moment later, after Rocket moved, came the third check.

"Perpetual," Rocket said, having learned a few chess terms since playing with his father. "That's a draw."

"Only because you spotted me a whole rook, son."

"You're still getting better."

"So are you," said Papa as set the pieces back up. "You're always going to be better than I am. You have an instinct for tactics."

Rocket shrugged. "You know how it is. It comes naturally to me."

Papa studied his son for a moment, then smiled. A week ago they'd had almost the same conversation, but the bitterness was gone from his son. He saw it all the time in his work as counselor and therapist. An Uplift crossing the threshold into a new level of self comfort, self belief.

It didn't matter any more that a lot of Rocket's genius was due to the organic computers in his head. They'd long since become part of him. Rocket was comfortable with what he was now. The trial and all the trauma that went with it let him leave a little more of his past behind. The fear, guilt and hate was a little more distant. Maybe one day it would be gone altogether. Maybe one day he'd wake up shaking for the last time, and go peacefully back to sleep.

"They couldn't remove it," Rocket said. He touched the side of his head. "Even Ernst didn't know everything it does. Tschu kept private notes that didn't survive. All they could do was shut it down. Mostly."

"I heard," Papa said. He studied the board and pushed a pawn. "Back to the way it was. Just making it feel good to work. As long as you know what's happening, you can keep it under control."

"I've been doing that for years," Rocket said. He pushed a pawn of his own. "I suspected it was there long before I found it on a scan."

"But something's changed," Papa said.

"Yeah." Rocket leaned back. "Everyone knows now. About everything. And I'm not in jail."

"You're changing the subject." Papa sat back as well. All around them stretched the green lawns and prefab buildings of Sanctuary. In the near distance most of the Guardians were playing volleyball with an assortment of humanoids and Uplifts. Only Drax was missing, off somewhere with his friend and (don't tell Star-Lord) lover Breaker the bear. "I know we've always thought were were alone, because we're the only Earth raccoons here. Barring a trip back there to visit the locals..."

Rocket grinned. "I like to be able to talk to my mate, thank you."

"Me too." Papa moved a knight. "Doctor Foster and his staff have learned a lot from the various labs you Guardians and Nova shut down. They know enough about Uplifted Earth animals now that they are talking about assisted pregnancies. Hybrids. I might really be able to have children with Alyssum soon, or you with Lylla."

Rocket considered that. "Dad, you know I live a dangerous life. And kids, I don't know. I just..." he gestured helplessly. "I never thought about it before. I never considered it was even possible."  
"Son, have you thought about what you want to do with your life?"

"Well of course I have, dad." Rocket shrugged. "I'm doing it."

Papa glanced over at the volleyball match. Mantis and Quill on one side with three Uplifts, teen Groot and Gamora on the other with three furry teammates of their own. Nebula was off planet again, gone before her invitation to the trial and its temporary pardon expired.

"Rocket," he said, and his son looked up at his name instead of 'son'. "Rocket, you're the best tech here. Maybe the best on Xandar. You're so good you got kidnapped just because someone wanted you to work on their ship."

"Twice," Rocket muttered, and then he had to explain about Captain Sharktooth and the _Superb Nova._ The incident with Captain Triger and the _Violent Lady_ Papa already knew about, what with Rocket having worked for that Ravager four times now. (Only the first time involved kidnapping.) The Nova incident was still something of a secret, what with the lack of survivors to tell the tale and all.

"See," Papa said. "People know how good you are. You could work anywhere that grants Uplifts rights. And that's the point."

"What's the point?" The chess game was largely forgotten but both raccoons watched the volleyball game for a moment. Sharptooth and Alyssum, brother and sister in all but blood, appeared and joined the game, one on each team. The low-slung weaselly Uplifts were quick as lightning and leapt into the air to swat the ball, making up for the fact that neither was even four feet tall standing up on hindpaws. Sigma, the little bunny who was 90% machine, watched from the sidelines, petting a tabby cat almost as mechanical as he was.

"The point of all this." Papa waved at Sanctuary in general. "It used to be just you, son. Trying to survive in a world that treated you like a freak. Somehow you did it, didn't go crazy, didn't just start killing people in revenge."

"If it weren't for Groot..." Rocket said. "Poor old Groot. I didn't know what a friend was until he was gone. I didn't realize he saved me, not just my life. He saved me. And raising his son, it helped me so much too." He touched his chest. "They helped make me what I am today."

"A good man." Papa said.

Rocket nodded. "I try."

"The point," Papa went on, "The point is that it was just you. Then you found Lylla and the rest of that first batch, and that led you to others, and then to still others. You didn't just make a good man out of yourself, Rocket. You helped found a community."

"Before you," he said, "Uplifts were rare, and most of them went crazy or were slaves. You were the first really successful one. You saved people, even people who'd treated you like dirt. You, more than anyone, are why Sanctuary is here. Why we have rights."

"You're getting at something," Rocket said. "But I don't know what. I know all of that."

"What I am saying," the older, yet also younger - stasis does weird things to timekeeping - raccoon said, "Is that it's time it decide who you want to spend your life with." He fiddled with a pawn, uncertain of what to do with his hands. "I'm going to ask Alyssum to marry me. I think you should ask Lylla."

"Marry?" Rocket tilted an ear skeptically. "You've been talking to Pete, or Paul. That's an Earth thing, a humie thing."

"Is it?" Papa jabbed a claw in Rocket's direction. "Who do you want to wake up next to, son? Every day for the rest of your life?"

"Lylla," Rocket said without hesitating. "I've learned so much since I met her. I fell in love with her the day I met her, it just took me a while to figure it out."

"Then tell the world," Papa said. He watched Alyssum, who he too had loved as soon as he met her, dart around the volleyball court like a four-legged missile. "No one doubts that you love her, son. Make it formal."

"But why? Everyone knows already."

Papa paused once more to watch volleyball. Gamora was waggling her finger at teen Groot, telling him, probably not for the first time, that shooting out fines to whack the ball is cheating.

"Because," Papa said, "This isn't the end. Sanctuary, that is. Nova Corps wants to found an off-world Uplift colony. They have an old shipyard in a neighboring system they want us to man. We will be in charge, Rocket. It will be our shipyard, a new home for as many Uplifts as want to go. And a lot will. That new home will need leaders, Rocket."

"Who, me?" Rocket grinned. "I'm not a leader. Just a mechanic, a soldier."

"You and Lylla together could lead. She has the diplomatic skills and you could keep the place running. Alyssum and I will go, too. Sanctuary is here to help fix broken people, Rocket. Those people need lives, careers. Now we will have a place where we can live and work and contribute. Home, Rocket. For all of us."

"Home," Rocket said. He had a home. Three, actually. The Quadrant, the Benatar and Sanctuary. And a family. But if he was going to raise kids, did he want to do it here?

All he'd wanted, back in the beginning, was respect. To be treated like a person, not an animal. The assholes in the lab hadn't given him that and neither had anyone else. Until Groot, and Quill and the others.

Now he had the respect of his friends, his family, and even the folk of Xandar and the Ravagers. Saving the galaxy twice will do that. There were still assholes, sure, but he had to shoot a lot less people for being dicks these days.

Was it time to settle down, have kids? Be part of the leadership instead of just a mechanic? Maybe it was.

"Okay, dad," Rocket said. "I'm listening."

Papa grinned a sharp-toothed grin and slapped him on the shoulder. "That's the spirit. Now, the first thing we need to talk about is rings. I use my hands too much for cooking and you for technical work for finger rings, so I was thinking earrings. Platinum for Alyssum and myself, maybe gold for you and Lylla? It'd match the ladies' fur."

Here was a conversation he'd never expected. Yet here it was. Talking about wedding rings with his dad.

It had taken years to work past the pain and hate and fear. He'd finally done it, thanks to his friends and family. Maybe it was time to leave the last of that behind and just live.

They'd need a name for the shipyard. Something to remind them of how it all started in pain, but was so much better now.

"Halfworld 2," Rocket muttered, and nodded. A bit of redemption for that horrible place, and a new home for a new people. And as an added bonus, it'd be a kick in the pants for Pavel Ernst if and when he heard about it.

Halfworld 2. It would do.


End file.
